From another point of view
by EmEx
Summary: Lara's daughter reflects about her mother.


Title: FROM ANOTHER POINT OF VIEW  
  
Author: M-X  
  
summary: this time some one reflects on a brighter side of the Tomb Rider  
  
Rating: G  
  
Disclaimer: Guess what? Tomb Rider and Lara Croft are not mine! I bet you didn't know   
that eh?  
  
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**From another point of view**  
  
By M-X  
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When I was a little girl, I was used to hear that word all the time, I knew that it was about history, lost cities and that she loved it. But there was just one thing I knew about archeology for certain; it kept her away from me.  
  
I hated it.  
  
Of course I'd never say she didn't love me, or that she didn't spend any of her time with me; I can recall thousands joyous moments with to her, I remember her carrying me in her arms, spinning, while I was flying through the air, laughing at the ticklish sensation at my stomach, she was always a strong woman.

I remember her long brown hair, she often let me brush it, it was like silk. Her big, chocolate eyes expressed so much, they always seemed to know what I was thinking. I still can see her in my mind, teaching me to swim, to ride, to read, among other _activities_, she always said that a girl must know how to defend herself.   
  
Even Winston told me that she did not get away from my side during the first two years of my life, of course I was just to small to remember, but now that I analyze it, by that sole action, I really can say with all the confidence in the world, that my mom loved me very much, indeed.  
  
The reason of my affirmation lies in the own nature of my mother; impulsive, hyperactive, always moving around, never quiet, never spending too much time in one place, her own free spirit not allowing her to. She loved to travel, to learn new things, the feeling of adrenaline running through her veins…  
  
....And still, she stayed with me those two whole years, nor going to any expedition neither getting herself into some strange adventure, making sure maternal love was always present for me. I can tell.

I've seen my old room when I was a baby, it is full of details; fairy tales books, toys, teddy bears and a rocking chair. She used to sit there with me.  
  
But as I said, mom was always active, and her maternal satisfaction, although, I suppose   
was a beautiful part of her life, it was not enough to feed that free spirit of hers.  
  
So, I saw myself in front of that huge door several times, waving good bye to her, giving away a large sigh after hours of crying for her to stay, like many children did when their parents went to work. But only after I got into school, I found out mine was the only one to go out one morning and return next week, tired to the bone and bruised every where. How I envied the other kids.  
  
Then she would be back and she would carry me in her arms and hug me, and she would tell me about her adventures and read bed time stories to me. Yes, I know, hard to believe, but it's true.

I used to crawl onto her lap while she worked on her computer, and then fall asleep there, enjoying her presence, her smell, and her reassuring caresses.

But after a while, she would get anxious, uneasy, I would notice her working out more, some times, passing around the house in an impatient manner. I learned through experience to interpret the signs; soon, she would be leaving again.  
  
Not that I stayed alone, Winston was tender and complacent with me and so was my nanny. Grandpa used to visit me when mom wasn't at home, I didn't know why, never reflected on the theme, now I know all the background of Lord Henghingly and Lara Croft's relationship.

Grandpa believed mom didn't know about his visits, a naïve assumption if you ask me, but mom was never easy to cheat on. Of course she knew, and still did nothing for prevent him to see me.

Grandpa always said I was the vivid image of her. I bet he missed her. I'm glad I didn't inherit their pride.  
  
My father, there is not much I can tell about, I didn't get to know him, and mom almost never spoke about him, but I suppose he was not very important in her life, never good with relationships, my mother.

They just would mean an obstacle for her freedom, something to keep her tied... and then, I was on the way, just the kind of ties she had tried so hard to avoid. No doubt she did not feel all too happy, and I'd bet any thing that abort was on her mind more than once, but abort was a murder, in one of the most defenseless creature there could be, I'm sure that's the thought that stopped her, and thanks to that I was born.

Oh no, please don't call me ingénue, I'm well aware that mother was not a saint, and that she took several lives, but she was a survivor, not a murderer.  
  
When I was a bit older, I had a wider comprehension of things, as I had of my mother's "job", I learned about her fame as well. _The tomb rider_, they called her.

Somehow my young mind managed to ignore the dark side of that reputation, and concentrated on the one that made me feel proud.   
  
She sometimes took me where she kept all the things she got form her explorations, often choosing one of them and telling me all about it. I remember one of her lessons among all of them. She grabbed a heavy gold head and explained to me that it was from the Toltec culture, that it was used to give cult to Tlaloc, the Mesoamerican God of the rain. She explained to me how she found it, and the incredible emotion she felt when finally she had the statue in her arms.

I looked at it curious, then at the other hundred of things at the large and wide of the room, I asked her what thing had made her happier when she finally had it in her arms. She just smiled, wrapped me in a thigh embrace and gave me a kiss, but said no more.

Now I understand, she was referring to me.  
  
But also, I realized that one day, she might not return alive from one of her trips, many times I begged her to stay at home, to not ever go away. She just looked at me, pain in her eyes and obvious hesitation.

I never held hopes for her to do so, any way. Even at my short age, I knew she would die in life if she did as I asked her for. I never tried further to convince her, it was useless. I hated archeology even more.  
  
Now I see that science from a different point of view, and I have got to understand why it awoke such a passion in mother, not the part of reading thousand of books, although research made her happy as well, but to discover palaces before any one else, bring to light all it's mysteries, putting her foot in a ground nobody has stepped on in centuries, and then the emotion of the unknown, the action, the adventure!

Yes, Now I can understand better her eagerness to go hunting a tomb full of tramps and wild animals, and I think me and archeology came at peace at last, mostly because mother loved it.

Even if it killed her.  
  
**FIN**

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please, comments and criticisms, forgive me if there is any mistake, English is no   
  
my first language.


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